


Another Kind of Party

by telera



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal, Bondage, Cannibalism, F/M, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Torture, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telera/pseuds/telera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second visit to the Fell's apartment doesn't quite go as Anthony expected...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Kind of Party

**Author's Note:**

> *Spoilers for Hannibal Season 3 Episode 1 ANTIPASTO*
> 
>  **Extra Warning** to avoid spoiling anything in the tags: Implied character death
> 
> Written for a prompt the lovely homoette sent me [on tumblr](http://telerafairlyreie.tumblr.com/) ^=^

Anthony knew there wouldn’t be any kind of party when he entered _Dr. Fell_ ’s luxurious apartment late in the night, but he wasn’t expecting to be knocked out with a bust of Aristotle. Now, _that_ was an irony if there was ever one. The real Dr. Fell considered Aristotle was “preposterously overrated in Western academia”. Roman had proclaimed as much in one of his last conferences, the pompous, pathetic fuck he was. In any case, now the weight of the Greek philosopher fell on Anthony’s head with a vengeance. And he passed out.

 

Waking up was no less than an irony. The Balenciaga scarf he had bought in Milan last week was now the only thing he was wearing, the silky cloth artistically –and _tightly_ \- wound around his naked body. Anthony writhed on the floor in what he knew would be a futile attempt to beak free, but as he tested the give of the scarf he realized that his cock and balls were trapped in a subtle web of silky knots. Thankfully he wasn’t hard- not yet, anyway.

 

‘Anal hook?’ he heard an amused voice say from above, and when he looked up Anthony saw it was Dr. Fell. Or Mr. Yakov, or whoever this dangerous man was.

 

‘No’ the wife replied from the bed, although Anthony very much doubted these two were married after all. Who they were, and what bound them together was a mystery, but Anthony was now the focus of their attention, and he gave a little smile as he said:

 

‘This wasn’t really necessary’ he said as a drop of blood trickled down his temple ‘I like this kind of party as well’.

 

He was thoroughly ignored, though, and Hannibal clicked his tongue as he left the heavy steel hook on the table by his side.

 

‘What about this?’ he said picking another instrument, and Bedelia nodded her head. Anthony craned his neck to see what it was, but he couldn’t get a glimpse.

 

‘I was once in a very similar… position’ he tried with as much dark humour as he could muster ‘In Paris, I think it was last year. And let me tell you the experience was—’

 

‘I assure you, Mr. Dimmond, you’ve never been in quite a similar position’ Hannibal said straddling his prone body and parting his cheeks.

 

Anthony gasped in surprise at the cold touch that pressed on his hole- whatever it was, it was metallic and smooth and _huge_.

 

‘Ah!’ he panted as his ring of muscle was forcefully stretched ‘Give me a moment- wait- _stop_!’ he groaned, and Hannibal merely chuckled.

 

‘As a connoisseur of atrocious torture instruments, I’m sure you must be acquainted with the pear of anguish. Although maybe, not as intimately yet’.

 

Anthony squeezed his eyes shut as the barely lubed instrument forced its way inside him. He had taken plug-like toys like this before, but not so quickly. And never without a long and thorough fingering, something Dr. Fell was purposefully avoiding.

 

‘You know the “pear of anguish” is a modern coinage, though. The instrument is genuinely medieval, and an interesting precursor of the contemporary anal speculum. When fully inserted into the victim’s anus, the four spoon-shaped lobes open turning this little screw here. Of course, if open fully the visceral mutilation would be severe, causing excruciating pain and a most certain death’.

 

Anthony choked a sob as he felt the pear shaped instrument finally seating deep inside him. His sensitive ring of muscle burned and throbbed, and he was sure there must be a little bleeding as well. His eyes stung with unshed tears, and he started to mutter a plea for mercy when the instrument twisted suddenly inside him.

 

‘Ooohh’ he moaned instead, as the heavy pressure nudged and prodded his prostate ‘Please, stop’.

 

‘Stop?’ Bedelia asked taking another sip of her whisky ‘Are you quite sure, Mr. Dimmond? Now that the party is finally getting interesting’.

 

Anthony winced as his cock strained for attention. The silky knots at the base made it swell purple red, and his balls started to hurt too.

 

‘One notch’ Bedelia instructed, and Hannibal smirked as he turned the screw of the torture instrument slowly.

 

‘Allow yourself to _untwist_ , Mr. Dimmond’ Hannibal advised, and Anthony couldn’t help a sharp yelp as the dreaded leaves of the pear expanded inside him.

 

‘Please stop’ he begged once more, because it hurt and he felt obscenely stretched and open. His cock was leaking already, hard and tingling between his thighs, and he started to rub himself on to the thick rug to get some friction and ease the need to come.

 

‘Isn’t it fascinating to see how our bodies confuse pain for pleasure, and viceversa’ Hannibal muttered ‘The sensory overload from torture will capture your wicked attention more effectively than any lewd and vulgar exposition of iron maidens and breaking wheels, Mr. Dimmond’.

 

‘I—I--’ Anthony tried, but his babbling became a scream as the screw was turned another notch. Passing out would have dignified his pain, but as the blades of the torture instrument widened further inside him, the pleasure became so acute that he came all over the rug. He felt no relief, though, just a white hot pain that seared through his insides as his cock spilled spurt after spurt of come, making his balls swell blue and taut from the silky bondage.

 

‘No more…. No more…’ he mumbled incoherently, and thought his plea had finally moved his callous torturer as he sat next to the elegant woman on the bed.

 

‘Observing or participating?’ Hannibal asked taking a sip from her whiskey, and Bedelia’s lips curved in the lightest of smiles.

 

‘Saint Lawrence, I would think’ she whispered, and Hannibal nodded.

 

It took only a split second for Anthony to understand his death was imminent, on an iron grill over a slow fire that would roast his flesh little by little, just as Saint Lawrence had been martyred. The raw oysters, acorns and marsala he had been fed made sense now- sickeningly so.

 

‘No’ he begged as Dr. Fell approached him, but everything turned dark as his neck was skillfully snapped and fractured in preparation for the late supper.

 


End file.
